


Blues

by Builder



Category: Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Friendship, Gen, Headaches & Migraines, Hurt/Comfort, James "Rhodey" Rhodes & Tony Stark at MIT, Sickfic, Vomiting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-07
Updated: 2018-08-18
Packaged: 2019-06-06 14:51:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,897
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15197138
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Builder/pseuds/Builder
Summary: There's a first time for everything.Migraine, check.New friend? Also check.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Find me on tumblr @builder051

Tony isn’t quite sure when he turned into a zombie, but he definitely feels like one of the undead as he reaches out to open the door to the lab.  The light seems to bounce off the tile floor and polished lab benches with more force than usual.  He screws up his eyes against the brightness and shuffles to his seat.  

He feels hungover.  He feels worse than hungover.  Which is weird, because Tony doesn’t remember drinking last night.  He wouldn’t be surprised if he’d managed to wipe his memory, though.  As he reaches into his backpack, he realizes he has no idea if he’s done the homework assignment.  Even remembering what class he’s in is a little iffy.

“Hey.  You ok, man?”  A tall boy falls into the chair beside Tony and starts unloading his own bag.  “Cause you’re, like, scary pale.”

“Hm.”  Tony doesn’t have a lot to say to that.  He does recognize the kid, though.  His name is…something.  And this class is…physics?  

Tony shakes his head and immediately regrets it.  “Ugh,” he groans quietly.  All of a sudden, his stomach feels as messy as his head.  


“Tough night?” what’s-his-name teases, flashing Tony a friendly grin.  “Were you at Delta Psi last night too?”  


“No,” Tony mutters.  “I don’t…I don’t do that.”  Being a solid four years younger than most of the student body means that his forays into underage drinking have to be a lot stealthier than those of the average college kid.  Tony’s head gives a massive throb that he feels clear down to his knees.  His stomach moves in the opposite direction, and the taste of bile burns in his throat.  


Tony cages his hand preemptively over his mouth and takes a slow breath through his nose.  He’s already dead.  Why does his body feel the need to thrust him into the realm of illness with a high possibility of public humiliation?  Isn’t the blinding headache enough?

“Tony?  You sure you’re alright, dude?”  His lab partner pokes him in the shoulder.  It feels like an electric shock on Tony’s sensitive skin, and he rockets out of his chair as a heave rises in his throat.    


Tony trips over his feet, and he makes it halfway across the classroom before his vision goes white and last night’s dinner splashes down the front of his shirt and onto the floor.  

The lab erupts in disgusted exclamations, but it all sounds like a sonic wave to Tony.  He fumbles for purchase on the nearest table with one hand while he clamps the other over his ear.  It’s too much.  His head’s going to explode.  

“What’d’ya say we cut class today?” Tony’s lab partner takes him by the elbow and all but drags him out into the hallway.  There’s a trash can in the common area, and Tony drapes himself over it as his stomach continues to turn itself inside out.    


“Your head bugs, doesn’t it?”  


“Yeah,” Tony breathes, cringing as he brings up rancid-tasting bile.  


“You ever had a stress headache before?  Or a migraine?”  


Tony lifts his head and squints at the boy.  

“Yeah.  It’s a fun experience.”  He chuckles darkly.  “I don’t think I’ve ever really introduced myself.  Rhodey.  I don’t actually go by James Rhodes.”    


“Tony,” Tony gasps.  “I don’t actually go by…well.  You know.”  He heaves again and dips his face below the rim of the trash can.  


“That sounds like it hurts,” Rhodey says.  “I’ll walk you back to your dorm once you feel up to it.”  


“I have…class,” Tony protests, spitting out dregs of mucous.  


“Not today you don’t,” Rhodey insists.  “Maybe later I’ll let you copy my notes, but for now you gotta go back to bed.”


	2. Get me on another rap

“We could go to the library, if you want,” Rhodey says with a shrug.  “But I’ve got a stereo.”

It takes Tony a moment to realize what his new friend is offering.  It’s not everyday that a weedy 16-year-old gets invited to join a bona fide college junior to study in his room.  While Tony’s positive the boring box is identical to his own dorm, there’s something mysterious and almost alluring about the territory of a legitimate MIT student. 

 _It shouldn’t be this exciting_ , Tony thinks.  But maybe it says more about his own self-esteem.

“Don’t worry, I’m not hitting on you.”  Rhodey’s face breaks into a grin.

Oh.  There’s that.  Tony’s expression slowly changes to a matching smile. 

If he was in his right mind, he’d say  _no thanks_.  First of all, studying?  Tony doesn’t think he’s engaged in that activity since he memorized his times tables in second grade.  And second, what does this mean for their rapport?  Tony hasn’t spent time with a peer in just as long.  One-night stands don’t count, and Rhodey’s already made it clear that he doesn’t intend to take things that direction.

“Don’t hurt yourself thinking too hard.  It’s ok if you don’t want to.”  Rhodey zips up his bag and throws it over his shoulder.

Tony blinks himself back to the conversation at hand.  If he was in his right mind, he’d refuse, run away, and hope to never run into this guy again. 

Problem is, Tony isn’t in his right mind.  He can practically feel his head trying to spin on his shoulders.

“Sure,” he says.  “You got AC/DC?”

“Course I do.”  Rhodey holds open the classroom door and waits for Tony to follow.

Tony assumes the room will be messy like his, but Rhodey’s dorm is put together with militaristic precision.  The bed’s made with perfect hospital corners, and Tony swears the comforter looks starched.  Maybe it’s the stark departure from expectations, but it’s hard to step inside.  The walls seem too white.  Even the huge tape deck under the window is too shiny.

“Make yourself comfortable,” Rhodey says, hanging his backpack on a hook behind the door.

“Comfortable?” Tony blurts.  “I’ll mess up your…”  He trails off and gestures at the room’s pristine fixtures. 

Rhodey laughs.  “Seriously.  Sit wherever.”  He scans a row of cassettes neatly lined up on the windowsill and pops one into the player.  

Tony perches on the edge of the bed, feeling as if every wrinkle he’s making in the blankets is a mark of his own flaws in comparison.  He’s too young.  Too disorganized.  Assuming they’re actually going to pull out their books and study, Tony’s sure he’ll be too stupid.

“There we go…”  Rhodey fiddles with the knobs on the stereo, somehow delegating  _Back in Black_  to background noise.  He turns to Tony.  “So, besides physics, what other classes are you taking?”

“Um…”  Everything in Tony’s brain has suddenly turned to fuzz.  Even at minimal volume, the bass beat of the music thrums a tattoo against his skull.  “Calc.  Engineering…  Spanish?” 

“You sure about that?” Rhodey flashes him a sideways smile. 

Tony scrubs his hand up the side of his face.  “Hm.  Yeah,” he murmurs.  “Spanish.”

“Well, I won’t be any help with that one,” Rhodey says.  He grabs a spiral notebook out of a perfectly aligned stack on his desk.  “I’m taking German.”

“Oh.”  Tony wishes he had something better to say, but his available brainpower seems to be diminishing by the second.  The walls feel closer than they did a moment ago.  A throb sparks behind his forehead, and Tony’s gut twinges in dreadful anticipation.

“We should probably stick to physics.”  Rhodey sits on the floor beside Tony’s feet.  “I have all the answers from the practice exams from the textbook…”  He leafs through the pages. 

The sound of paper scraping against paper makes Tony want to grit his teeth.  Of all the moments for a headache, it has to be now, when he’s having a nice, normal college experience.  Maybe he’s just destined to never have friends. 

Rhodey’s voice fades to a buzz.  Tony swallows a mouthful of bitter saliva.  Painful sparks shoot from his jaw up toward his ears. 

“Tony?”

“Huh?”  Tony’s heart thuds against his ribs.  He’s missed something. 

“You ok?”  Rhodey looks concerned.  Or at least he would if half his face wasn’t covered in a yellowish blob bright enough to make Tony’s eyes water. 

What he needs to do is get out of here before everything truly goes to shit.  Instead Tony nods, accepting the resulting vertigo that forces his stomach into is throat.

“You’re not looking so good.”  Tony can only see on of Rhodey’s eyes, but it’s wide, and his brow is raised.  “You getting a headache?” 

“I’m fine,” Tony says, knowing full well he’s fooling no one.  He stands quickly and reaches for his backpack. 

As soon as he bends his knees, Tony’s center of balance evaporates.  A huge throb assaults his forehead and he stumbles.  Nausea spikes, and he struggles to swallow and fall at the same time.

“Whoa, ok,” Rhodey throws his arm out in front of Tony to keep him from face planting.  “Let’s slow it down.”

Tony would argue if he felt like he could open his mouth.  His back teeth drown in bile-tinged saliva.  “Um,” he breathes desperately, trying to push Rhodey out of the way.

“Alright, I got it.” 

A trashcan appears out of nowhere, and Tony’s body takes the cue to start gagging.  He wraps his arms over the top of the bin and heaves.  His stomach empties in a rush of sourness, but the contractions of his throat continue.  He retches dryly, the pressure making his head feel like it’s about to burst, sending bits of skull and brain matter splattering around Rhodey’s too-clean room.

“Try to breathe every once in a while,” Rhodey’s voice whispers. 

Had he not?  Tony sucks in a lungful of air.  The fumes of his vomit burn the insides of his nose and make him want to gag all over again, but the rush of oxygen relieves some of the pressure in his head.  The throb settles into a rhythm that makes Tony feel slow and sleepy.

 “Ok.”  Air displaces at Tony’s shoulder as Rhodey stands up.  The stereo clicks off, and the curtains swish across the window.  “Do you want to lie down?” 

Tony means to say  _no_ , or maybe  _fuck you_ , but he heaves again before he can force out the words.  When he’s gasping and spitting, he buries his face in his forearm and chokes, “Yeah.” 

“Ok.  Good.”  Rhodey slips his arm behind Tony’s back and hauls him to his feet.  Tony squeezes his eyes shut so he doesn’t have to see the walls dissolve into a dizzying blur around him.  It feels like the room tips, and suddenly the mattress is under his ass.  It tips again, and it’s under his face.

“There.  Tell me if you feel like you’re gonna puke again,” Rhodey says.  “Or if you want some water or something.”

“Hmph.”  Tony would be embarrassed if he was capable of feeling at all.  He feels drunk, with illness and exhaustion balancing on either end of a seesaw, each threatening to overtake the other and drag him with it.  

“I’ll keep it quiet.  And I’ll be here when you wake up.”  There’s the slightest rustling of pages as Rhodey reopens his notebook.

“I’m…I don’t…”  The notion of an apology crosses Tony’s mind. 

“It’s ok, man,” Rhodey says.  “We don’t have to talk about it or anything.”

“Good,” Tony manages before he lets himself fall toward sleep.


End file.
